Scotch
by Timonx3
Summary: Sitting in a pub, alone, sucked. And it looked pretty pathetic, too. At least he didn't remain alone for long. Slash. ONESHOT.


**Wow, this took me a really long time to write...! xD Just a little something ObsessivelyOdd and I thought up. And if it hadn't been for her, this would never have been finished, either.  
It turned out so much longer than intended... I was planning on around 2000 words, like usual, but it ended up closer to 7000 xD Well, I hope it's good :)  
WARNING! CONTAINS SLASH! AND SWEARING! And obviously mentioing of alcohol, too. Duh.  
Disclaimer: Mwahahahah! I'm the, uh, king of the world! ... but I _still_ don't own Alex Rider. Sorry.  
____________________________________________________________________________________**

Martin Williams – also known as the SAS soldier Eagle, proud member of K-Unit – was sitting lazily at a bar, bored half out of his mind. Why? He was alone and had no one to talk to.

Martin was quite fond of talking, oblivious to the fact that most couldn't stand listening to him. He just loved the sound of his own voice, and, what with being in the SAS, it was a sort of relief for him to talk – everyone had their own way of dealing with stress or awkward circumstances. He had been in numerous unpleasant situations where his silence had been, quite literally, a matter of life and death.

His unit had hell dealing with him afterwards, but Martin didn't let their menacing threats get to him, because he knew that deep, deep down, they all loved him (Wolf didn't take well to hearing that and Tiger, the new member, had denied it profusely).

Well, back to the topic; Eagle was bored.

Sitting in a pub, alone, sucked. And it looked pretty pathetic, too – but he just blamed the traitors he called friends for that, seeing as they had all disappeared somewhere.

K-Unit, plus Ben Daniels (Fox), had decided to go out together, to celebrate that they had a two months off duty. That amount of time was great enough for them to dare take a drink, so long as they didn't drink every night or too much. Couldn't afford to become addicted.

However, it didn't turn out quite as planned; Tiger apparently had to go see his sister, whom lived in Scotland; she had just given birth to a little baby girl. Snake had 'called in sick', followed by a call from Fox who, all of a sudden, had very important 'business' to attend to. Though Martin had a sneaking suspicion that the two men had just decided that it would be too troublesome to go 'all the way' to Eagle's local pub, and settled on renting some cheap movie and eating pizza at Fox's apartment instead. Traitors.

That left Eric Damon – Wolf.

They had appointed a meeting at Eagle's local pub, Friday night, eight o'clock. To be honest, Eagle hadn't even thought that Wolf would be willing to go out if it were just the two of them.

They had only been there for about half an hour, when Wolf had gotten himself an "instant-date" and left Martin sitting at the counter, alone. Which sure felt pathetic. So he settled on "drowning his sorrows", now that he actually _could_, without risking to get kicked from the SAS.

"Ey, bartender!" Eagle said, just a little tipsy, raising his empty glass as to show what he wanted.

"Another scotch?" the bartender – a red-haired man with a big nose and friendly, brown eyes. He seemed to be in his mid-forties and was called "Tom" if the nameplate was anything to go by – asked. Martin just nodded, resting his head in his hands.

"Y'know, Tommy-boy, I rarely come 'ere nowadays..." he breathed and let a hand go through his hair. "I'm just so busy! An' when I finally get here, my mates 're all busy-bodies an' won't join me...!"

Tom put the glass in front of Eagle, before he turned around. He rolled his eyes and sighed, knowing that Martin would be talking _all night _if no one stopped him. He may not have come here in a while, but Martin sure was not anyone you easily forgot.

Talking about people you didn't, couldn't, forget – there was another man, at the far-off side of the counter. He had been a regular customer here, about three years ago – Tom had good memory, he rarely ever forgot any of the customers that had ever been there – but suddenly stopped coming. But now he was back.

It was a man of average height. He was slightly muscled, but it wasn't something that was very visible through his clothes. Blond hair, calculating, blue eyes – always ordered whiskey. Had a powerful aura and was firm, always in control but not talkative in the least. Never gave his name. And no matter how much he drank, he _never_ seemed to get drunk!

This man, however, had set his eyes on Martin.

It bewildered Tom – never had Mystery-man ever attempted to interact socially with anyone at the bar, and why _Martin_, of all people? Judging from his looks, he could more or less 'get' anyone else quite easily, anyway – but it also relieved Tom a little. This way, if everything went as it usually went when someone set his/hers eyes on someone else and made a move, he wouldn't have to deal with a drunk Martin throughout the entire night.

Eagle, though, was oblivious to the man watching him, as he rambled something along the lines of "Ben an' John probably have a more _personal_ relationship, anyway! I've see-seen the looks they give each other, when they think no one's watching!". He was easily affected by alcohol, but didn't care at all, as he kept ordering in scotch after scotch.

It was when Eagle had finished his third glass since Wolf had left, "Mystery-man" decided to take action.

He walked, very gracefully, from one side to of the counter to the other and sat down beside Martin, whom was – surprisingly – quiet for the moment, as he inspected the empty glass, looking thoroughly bewildered when he realized that it was empty. He was really having a "Where-is-my-drink-or-who-the-hell-drank-my-scotch?"-kind of look.

"Refill?" Mystery-man asked. His voice was dark but somehow direct, in a way just – _honest_, with the absolute _slightest_ hint of an accent, which couldn't quite be placed. Martin gave him a surprised look, inspected him quickly, his facial expression revealing that he absolutely didn't mind what he saw, and shrugged.

"Sure. Thanks." he grinned. "A sc--"

"A scotch and a whiskey." Mystery-man ordered of Tom, whom just nodded. Eagle, not quite able to control his features, looked surprised. But then he grinned again.

"How very generous of you, mister." Martin nodded at the bartender as he received his drink. "May I ask for your name?"

Mystery-man was quiet for a couple of seconds, contemplating whether he should actually give his name or not. He came to a conclusion pretty quickly, nodding lightly for himself.

"Yassen." there was a slight pause. "You?"

"Nice." Martin grinned. No surname? Sure, he could deal with that. This man had just bought him a scotch, after all. "Mine's Martin. Nice to meet you."

Yassen smirked slightly, looking amused, as if Eagle had told him some sort of joke. He figured that it was something that had with the "Nice to meet you"-part to do. But he couldn't understand just _what_ it was.

Martin took a sip of his scotch, settling on not musing about it. Yassen seemed like a nice enough guy and he was glad that he had company. Someone to talk to, although Yassen didn't seem like a very talkative man. But then again, Martin could probably handle the talking himself, as long as Yassen answered every now and then.

Eagle decided to start with the most basic question, however inappropriate it might be.

"So, d'you come here often?"

"Sometimes," Yassen answered, deliberately vague. "when I have time."

"Now, aren't you a mysterious one!" Eagle laughed. "Randomly treat me a scotch, offer me just a first name an' then not even answering questions directly!" he chuckled, not noticing how Yassen stiffened slightly. "But I don't mind – it's good with change every now an' then! I like it."

Now it was Yassen's turn to chuckle lightly. He shook his head, a little incredulous, but amused all the same.

They chatted all night, Eagle just pausing briefly to talk as he drank. Which he did – a lot. Yassen also drank quite a bit, but he didn't seem to get as affected.

Though he _did_ start talking a little more after a while, smirking or chuckling a little more often. He didn't really _smile_; the closest he got, was probably a smirk or a small, wolfish grin. But Eagle didn't mind. He was having the time of his life.

But when Martin started to _giggle_, Tom decided to maybe give the men a hint. They were probably drunk enough to not remember anything in the morning, anyway. At least Martin was.

So Tom said something along the lines of "We'll close soon, you might as well get going", blaming it on that, and added "Martin, you live around here, don't you? Why don't the two of you keep your _pleasant conversation_ there, eh?".

Eagle loved the idea – he knew, somewhere deep down in his subconsciousness, that it was getting rather late and that he would have to go home sooner or later, but, at the same time, he enjoyed so sitting here with Yassen. So brining Yassen home was the perfect solution! (He didn't think about what people _usually_ meant when they said "bring home". He hadn't realized that – yet).

Yassen was thinking along the same lines. Well, maybe not the part of the 'pleasant conversation', but going to Eagle's place and continue there, could be... interesting.

So, they left. But not before Martin had given Tom numerous goodbyes in different languages. He didn't know many, so he made half of them up.

They had made great mistake, though; the two men had been sitting all night and drunk a whole lot. So when they stood up and attempted steps, the alcohol _really_ struck them. It barely showed on Yassen, while Martin had to lean on the shorter man to be able to stand up properly.

Eagle slurred out an address and Yassen nodded, not looking so, but slightly strained by having to practically _carry_ a heavier man – Eagle was no by no means 'fat', but tall and wiry, yet somehow rather muscled, too (he belonged to the SAS, after all. Brecon Beacons was no playground). It was mostly his height, though, seeing as Yassen was pretty strong himself and Eagle had a strange way of being thin and muscled at the same time...well, anyway – Yassen didn't know that Martin was a SAS soldier, either. But still.

"I rarely 'ave guests, y'know, Yassen," Martin slurred, as he struggled to unlock the door. "Feel honored!"

Yassen just chuckled lightly and shook his head, watching as Eagle finally managed to open the door and stumble inside.

"C'mon in, Yassen, t'my simple dwelling!" Martin shook off his jacket and threw it to the side, not bothering to put it on a hook. He kicked off the shoes, gesturing for Yassen to come inside.

"Wan' somethin' to drink?" Eagle asked, opening the fridge and throwing it close again. He tripped over to a cupboard where he kept different sorts of fine wines he had received as presents, but hadn't had the opportunity to drink. "They're really nice," he explained matter-of-factly as he picked a random bottle. "no' some bad crap you ge' in cheap, wannabe-French restaurants..."

Martin ushered Yassen into the kitchen and pushed him into a chair, before _dancing_ about the kitchen. He picked out two glasses, poured them some wine and kept dancing around, looking for matches so that he could light candles. Might as well get the whole 'feeling' while they were at it.

After a couple of minutes, Eagle had turned all the electric lights off and lit several candles and finally taken a seat opposite of the other man. Now he was just grinning like a maniac, having sobered a little, but still pretty drunk.

"Excellent wine." Yassen stated, sipping of the red wine. He had no idea how either of them still could stand drinking _more_ alcohol, but assumed that Martin brought that side out of people.

"I know," Martin grinned. "gives a romantic feelin', with the lights an' stuff, eh?" his grin widened even more, not paying the fact that _he_ had been the one fixing all this, much thought.

Yassen raised an eyebrow but decided not to comment on it. He settled on enjoying the wine, simply listening to Martin's soft chattering that only stopped when the man took a sip of wine. Yassen was surprised with himself for having the patience to deal with it, but assumed that it was just because he had already drunk so much.

When he turned his attention back to Martin, he realized that he must have missed something the man said; because suddenly, Eagle stood up and took a couple of steps, but somehow failed, kind of got lost on the way, and came stumbling toward Yassen.

And landed in his lap.

"No' what I planned, bu' good enough." Martin murmured, rather suggestively – where did _that_ come from? – and tried to smirk, but failed, and just grinned instead. Without any sort of warning, he smashed his lips against Yassen's, looking too content with his... position.

Now Yassen had never been very good at resisting temptations – of course he damn well _could_, but it didn't mean that is was _easy_ – and now he practically had Martin handing him, well, _himself_. And this was what he had been after the entire night; there was no way he was just going to throw it away.

So Yassen smirked against the other man's lips and flippantly moved the bottle and glasses away; he stood up, shocking Eagle and causing him to fall backwards and land on the table. Just like Yassen had predicted.

He left Martin no time to react, leaned forward and caught his lips in a ferocious kiss, prying the other man's lips open with his tongue.

Eagle moaned, doing his best to keep up with Yassen, sneaking his arms around the other man's neck, hands going through his short hair. This wasn't what he had expected – hell, he had _never_ thought of himself as a... a _bottom_! – but... but, it was just so easy to lose himself in those... deep... kisses...

Eventually, they had to break apart for oxygen; but Yassen was determined to not waste one moment, and dove for Martin's neck and jaw right away. He went with feathery kisses at first, until he found a sensitive spot that made Eagle shudder – and bit down.

Martin groaned, instinctively trying to back away, though it was kind of hard, seeing as he was lying down already. But he changed his mind rather quickly, as Yassen's tongue darted out to soothingly lick the mark.

"...bed...r-room..." Martin murmured, any form of coherent sentence – or thought – impossible. Yassen nodded, wordlessly, getting off the table and dragging Martin along, making sure that they were never more than inches apart.

Now, standing _did_ complicate a few things, seeing as Eagle was a fair deal taller than Yassen. But they managed to stumble through the hall and finally into the bedroom and onto the bed, one of them (not quite clear who; neither could remember) grew bold enough to start tugging at a sweater, the other following suit and unbuttoning a shirt, kissing all the while. They reached the bed and fell onto it heavily, Eagle underneath Yassen once again.

Yassen wasted no time now, either, as he bent down and claimed Martin's lips in another passionate kiss, his hands moving downwards, encouraged by the moans that grew louder with every caress.

This was going to be a long night.

~~.._..~~

Yassen awoke with a terrible headache and a generally bad feeling; he wasn't at his momentary apartment, not in his bed. And there was something moving beside him.

He immediately tensed, ready to strangle the, uh, _thing_ if he had to. But then it spoke (he was determined to call it "it" until he knew exactly whom it was; something he had picked up in his line of work).

"Oh, freaking-fucking-bloody-_shit_, my _head_..."

As soon as Yassen realized who it was – Martin – all the memories came rushing back.

He was quite surprised that he had gone so far; Yassen had mainly just planned to distract himself with some busty woman in an alley, not go home with a _man_... but his distraction had worked, though. He had really needed something – _anything _– to get his mind off his latest 'assignment'.

This was what he usually did; flirted with some random person at a bar. Even if it was just a temporary and passionate embrace, it was better than nothing at all. Impulsiveness, lust; those were the things that could make him feel human again, after having killed yet another person for... for whatever it was that he received that time. Mostly money, but it depended.

"Shit...shit...shit..." Martin murmured, as he slowly, slowly sat up, holding his head. It was when the covering slid down his chest he realized that he was naked. He was entirely quiet for a moment, not moving at all – the memories probably returning to him as well.

Eagle's head whipped to the side very fast, wincing at the way-too-quick movement. He regarded Yassen with big eyes.

"Shit." he said, once again. "Did... did we...?"

"Yes." Yassen nodded, but regretting it right away – just the slight movement made his head pound even _more. _

"...shit." Martin murmured. He didn't look as if he regretted it, though; just generally shocked.

It was quiet for a long while. Yassen didn't feel like moving just yet, and Eagle desperately tried to come up with something to say.

"Well, it was damn good, wasn't it?" he murmured. "Must say that I've, uh, never been on the _receiving _end, but...uh..." his voice trailed off, blood rushing up to his face. He cleared his throat. This was awkward.

"We drank pretty much last night, didn't we?" Martin tried again. But he had no idea what to talk _about_, and Yassen wondered what made the other man _want_ to keep a conversation alive. It was doomed to be awkward and stiff; anyone could tell.

But that didn't mean Eagle was about to give up.

"So, um, do you live around here...?" there was no answer. "Well, I live, uh, here. Obviously."

More awkward silence. Great.

Martin started to get up from the bed, muttering about what a bother it would be to look for all the garments (they were probably quite scattered around the apartment...) and cleaning the sheets. He flushed an interesting shade of red as he abandoned the covering – still nude, mind you – and went to look for clothes.

Yassen had to admit that it was amusing to watch as the younger man struggled to keep his calm while looking for clothes, feeling very exposed without a thread on his body.

"So, um, Yassen," said man had to congratulate Martin for remembering his name. "Wanna take a shower? I know _I_ wanna..." his voice trailed off. "...shit! I-I mean, uh, do _you – _just you, God, sorry for that – wanna, um, shower?" he cleared his throat again, clearly very embarrassed. "but, y'know, you're the guest, and all, so if you, uh, wanna shower first...? I'll lend you clothes, too, if..." Eagle let a hand go through his hair, deliberately avoiding Yassen's eyes.

"I'd like to use the shower." Yassen said and rose out of the bed. Martin flushed again, picking some random garments and murmuring about the bathroom being out in the hall and to the left; Yassen couldn't miss it.

The Russian left the bedroom, picking up one of his socks and his shirt along the way. He took a quick shower and returned to the bedroom, which was now empty.

Martin had apparently found all his clothes and put them in a pile on the bed, with another change of clothes, in case Yassen wanted to wear something else (clean). He decided to wear his own pants but one of Martin's shirts.

There was a fleeting smell of food and coffee emitting from the kitchen. There was a sound of a radio playing relaxing 'happy'-music and something being fried.

It was strange, this feeling of... _home_. Though it was pretty that obvious that Martin hadn't been in his apartment for a while, it was still cozy and... homey.

Yassen _could_ leave the apartment without being seen or making a sound, like he usually did; but something was stopping him. Maybe it was the fact that Martin didn't seem menacing or like another assassin or agent under cover, whom planned to figure out as much as possible about him or just kill him. _And_ he had been a great lay. Hm.

When Yassen entered the kitchen, Eagle was standing by the stove, whistling along the song on the radio and looking way more at ease, oblivious to the other man's presence.

When he _did_notice it – Yassen hadn't bothered making a sound or show any signs of actually being there – Martin stiffened, spun toward him and looked ready to throw the spatula and anything he could reach that was within two meters of his reach. When Eagle realized that it was just Yassen, he relaxed noticeably and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry." he murmured, and turned back to the frying pan. Yassen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Apparently he wasn't the only one with... "odd" habits.

"So," Martin suddenly said. "staying for breakfast? Not to brag, but I make _delicious _omelette's; even Eric said so, and John said that they weren't especially unhealthy, so they're totally edible," he blabbered on. "Do you drink coffee, or would you prefer tea? By the way, there's painkillers on the table, I've already drugged myself... hell of a headache, eh? Drank pretty much yesterday, hm... Oh, if you want neither coffee or tea, there's water, wine and energy drinks. But I don't think the two latter would be a very good idea, though. Chocolate milk?"

It rather amazed Yassen that Martin had said all that and paused to breathe _once_.

"Bacon? I was thinking of frying some, but I wasn't sure if you like bacon or not, so I decided to wait with that. And there's bread, too, if you just wait a little, I'll take it out and set the table... ah, I think the omelette's are just about done..." Eagle picked out two plates from a cupboard and hurriedly moved the omelette's from the frying pan to the plates. "If you'd prefer another breakfast altogether, I can understand that; maybe you're not a heavy eater. According to Fo-- Ben, his _ward_," he grinned, as if he had said something funny. "really barely eats at all. I don't understand, 'cause Cub--" Martin cleared his throat and scowled at himself. "that's his nickname. Little kid. We call him Cub. His real name is, um, Alex, though. Eric's strange fetishes. Anyway, Alex – I'm gonna call him Alex now – isn't fond of eating, though he's a brilliant chef. He's pretty young though, and I'm quite sure he's decided what he's gonna do when he grows up, but he's a great chef nonetheless. And his food is _classy_."

Yassen sat down at the table, still amazed by how much Martin could say and barely stop to breathe. He raised an eyebrow at the mentioning of an 'Alex', but decided not to call on it.

"What did you say about bacon? You want some? Okay, then I'll fry that too." he moved about the kitchen, gathering whatever he needed and placing the plates on the table while he were at it. Without having received an answer, he poured them both some coffee and set it on the table, reminding Yassen of the painkillers twice.

"You know, I really like to talk," he suddenly said, matter-of-factly. Yassen resisted the urge to reply with "_No shit, Sherlock?_", despite knowing how extremely uncharacteristic that would be. "And it's really good to have someone to talk to, like this, in the morning. Though it was kind of awkward earlier – sorry for that – but I'm not the kind of guy who often drinks that much and ends up bringing someone home... that's Eric. He's a _ladies man _and gets himself a new girlfriend every time we have an off period!" Martin seemed to realize that he had said something, and immediately shut up. But then he seemed to understand that that only made it worse, and started talking again; way too quickly for the human ear to catch. "Well, that is, when he doesn't go around worrying about Alex. I think he just gets himself girlfriends to _avoid_ thinking about the kid – I mean, Eric's concern for the kid isn't normal! He's paternal and brotherly and friendly at the same time – which makes him a real bitch toward Alex." Eagle said, quickly, his earlier calm pace now quickening.

Yassen was very relieved when the doorbell suddenly rang; Martin had been about to just open his mouth and talk even _more_, but didn't quite get the opportunity. Yassen smirked slightly as the other man sighed, a little irritated, excused himself and left the kitchen.

He took a sip of the coffee and sniffed at the omelette's. Neither looked nor smelled poisonous.

It seemed edible enough.

He listened to Martin's surprisingly light steps and heard him undo three locks. Yassen couldn't quite work out when Martin had had the time to lock, but let it be. He ate slowly but stopped briefly as he heard his, hm, friend's (?) exclamation.

"Cub_? What the hell are you doing here_?"

"_Great to see you too, Eagle._" the sarcastic voice was very familiar. Yassen lowered his fork and concentrated on listening. It couldn't _possibly_ be... could it? "_Wolf sent me here. He was worried, 'cause the last time he saw you were last night, when he left you at the pub – and you didn't pick up this morning when he rang._"

There was a short silence.

"_Aw, I always knew he loved me._" Martin laughed, but it was a little awkward. Yassen rose quietly, and went to stand by the door; not visible himself, but he could hear whatever they said in the hall better now.

"_Now that you know I'm fine, you can just tell Wolf-man as much, alright? I'm in the middle of breakfast..._"

"_Breakfast? It's half past eleven_," the eerily familiar voice stated, sounding a little suspicious but also amused. A short pause. "_I can't _believe_ it! You have someone here?_" Oh, and incredulous. He sounded _very_ incredulous.

Yassen raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to chuckle. He didn't want to reveal himself, but he did turn around and peer at the two standing in the hall, if only to confirm his suspicions as to whom the other person was.

Of _course_ it was Alex Rider! Stupid to, even for a second, believe anything else.

The question was _what_ he was doing _here_, though...

Yassen came to a sort-of conclusion pretty quickly – Alex Rider was a spy. He had probably been trained at _some_ military base. He had called Martin 'Eagle' and also a mentioned a guy called 'Wolf'...

"What?" Martin asked, looking slightly hurt. "Don't you think I can – can bring people home like that?"

Alex raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly skeptical.

"I can!" Martin exclaimed. "I'm young, I'm single – not to mention my _charm_! – so, of course I can! And I can prove it!"

Now this didn't bode well, Yassen stated for himself, darkly amused. He figured that this could end badly. As in _very_ badly.

"Yassen? Yassen, could you come out here for a sec?" Eagle called, determined to give the spy some proof.

"Wait-what- _Yassen_?" Alex exclaimed, not quite believing what he was hearing.

The assassin in question decided to get this over with, and stepped out of his 'hiding place'. He regarded the two males before him steadily, his face not revealing anything, but was inwardly amused at Alex's expression. It went from shock, to disbelief, to shock again, to amusement (Alex must have realized that Eagle _slept_ with him...), to anger and then back to disbelief again.

"Y-_you_?" Alex asked, voice just above a whisper.

"Me." Yassen nodded, ready to defend himself if the teen decided to lash out. Who knew? Alex was a teenager, bound to be moody. Plus, the assassin _had_ killed his uncle, saved his life and been shot in his stead. Oh, and the spy also thought that Yassen was dead.

"What? You know each other?" Martin asked, confusedly.

"You could say that, yes." Yassen nodded again.

"You're dead," Alex stated, frowning. He was still surprisingly calm. "you were shot. I saw it."

"I was indeed shot, but, evidently, I'm not dead. Yet." the assassin replied, stoically. But still inwardly amused.

"Well, _obviously_." Alex muttered. He seemed to deliberate whether or not he should attack; because on one hand, this man had killed his uncle and helped sending him into the chaotic life he now lived – but on the other hand, Yassen _had_ saved his life more than once and had proved that he would never hurt him. Besides, the teen had experienced enough to know that the "a life for a life"-rule _was_ pretty valid...

And Eagle was there. What to do with him? Neither Yassen nor Alex were up to having explain what this about. But he was doubtlessly involved now.

"What the _hell_ is going on here!?" Martin demanded to know. "One of you are going to tell me _now_, alright? And what's this about Yassen being dead? Shot? Do you work in the same _business_, or what?"

The teen stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Alex had a hard time imagining Yassen being social and going to a pub – let alone following someone home and... yeah, all that. He wasn't naive – not after all he had been through, not just talking about his missions... – but he really didn't want to even _think_ about _Yassen_ and, and _Eagle_ doing... _that_.

"We don't exactly work in the same business," Alex said, carefully. "we're both a part of, uh, unpleasant things, but... we're not on the same side." he tried to say it was clearly and slowly as possible.

"Not on the same side... how?" Martin asked, slightly worried and suspicious, as they walked into the living room. Yassen sat down in an armchair, Eagle in the small couch and Alex on the table, so that he could see and talk to both of them.

"Well, you see, Eagle..." the spy started, a little uncertainly. He sent Yassen a glare as a sort-of-plea for help. He had decided to 'accept' Yassen and not do anything rash. Unless he had to.

"Well, I see – _what_?" the SAS agent was starting to think that he wouldn't like the answer. It wasn't like Cub to avoid the topic like this, and neither was he usually uncertain or so... vague. Unless it had anything to do with any of his missions, that is, but Martin was pretty confident they were past that by now.

"Did Yassen tell you his last name?" Alex stalled, carefully.

Eagle didn't quite like where this was going. He glanced at Yassen, trying to read the man but failing, so he turned back to the teen, shaking his head slowly.

At this, Alex glared at Yassen again and rolled his eyes. Of course he could understand that the assassin didn't hand out his surname just like that, especially not when he was 'flirting' (there was a certain risk that the person he was hitting on would run away...) – but still! He was a grown up man, if he wasn't going to give his surname away, why not just use another name altogether?

"I'm quite sure you've heard about him before," Alex started, cautiously. "his last name is Gregorovitch. Yassen Gregorovitch."

Eagle blinked. And blinked again. His head whipped to the side, desperate to see Yassen denying this.

But when he didn't, Martin realized that he had actually slept with an assassin. And a renown assassin at that.

He didn't know exactly what he should do; he couldn't say that he was disgusted, because really, he wasn't.

But... but... Yassen-was-an-_assassin_! And he, Martin, had _slept_ with him! He could have died, he could have been poisoned or stabbed or... or something else! Eagle tried to push away the panicked feeling, clear his mind, but didn't really succeed. Yassen _had_ seemed so nice...

But he was an assassin. And Martin, he – he was Eagle! He. Was. _SAS_! This was, way too literally, sleeping with the enemy!

"Fucking shit." he finally said. "You're a murderer...! A-a bloody _killer_!"

"Contract killer." Yassen corrected, absently. "I do not like what I do; it's simply a job."

"A job? A _job_!?" Eagle yelled and rose to his feet, fear temporarily forgotten. Alex automatically jumped off the table and backed away, not wanting to interfere or get in the way for this. "You _kill_ people! Take away their lives! Have you ever thought of what happens to their families?" Yassen didn't answer, which only angered Eagle further. "How can you call that a _job_!? It-it's sick! Unnatural and – and _wrong_!"

Alex bit his lip; maybe he should have explained this a little better, with more care and thought of what could happen. Then again, Eagle _had_ slept with Yassen; and that was his own fault entirely.

"...and how can you be so, so _unaffected_ by this?" Martin continued, exasperated. "You-you... you are a murderer," he couldn't stop saying that; the words kept going through his mind. "Does homicide not bother you? At all? It's... murder. _Murder_."

Finally, Eagle seemed to have run out of words. Suddenly tired, he fell back down onto the couch.

He was disappointed and shocked and frightened and confused; he had no idea what to do with himself. Alex, slightly uncomfortable after the sudden outburst and extreme display of emotions (even though he could understand what Eagle was getting at), decided to leave this to the two men to handle on their own. He trusted Yassen not to kill the SAS agent.

"Look, I'll leave it to the two of you to take care of this," he said, slowly. "I'm sure you can sort it all out, and after that you can continue... _whatever_ you were doing. Oh, and don't worry, I'm not gonna tell anyone," he felt rather silly at these words, and just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay?"

Martin said nothing, just nodded shortly. Yassen sighed very lightly, and nodded.

"Good bye, Alex." he said, meeting the brown, young-yet-too-old eyes squarely. The teen nodded, giving Yassen a "you-better-handle-this-mess-without-killing-anyone" look and left the apartment.

And once again Martin and Yassen were alone.

The assassin hadn't had to deal with these kind of situations before; he always found a way out... and most often he even made it out without having to take any lives. Though it meant lying terribly much... but he couldn't really lie his way out of this one; Martin knew too much. And he was worth enough to be told the truth.

"Martin." Yassen said, almost softly (he really didn't want to scare the man – because that _had_ happened before), and seated himself on the table, where Alex had previously been sitting.

"Killer." Eagle spat, instinctively. He regretted it the second later, but it was true, so he was neither going to apologize nor take it back. Yassen deserved it.

"I am not going to deny that," the Russian man said, calmly. "but do keep in mind that I have morals; and I never kill unless it's a job or the situation calls for it."

Martin raised his head, meeting Yassen's eyes. If it had been up to him, if he could go back in time, he'd never want to know this. He had liked Yassen good enough earlier; he had seemed to be a good guy, and they had had a good time, despite the awkwardness. But this man was an assassin. Did he even have feelings?

Once again the fear sneaked up on him, but Martin desperately tried to push it away. He didn't want to show fear; that would only worsen the situation. All he had to do, was avoid thinking about the fact that Yassen could kill him in an instant, without a second thought... which definitely was easier said than done.

"Murderer." Eagle flung at him, not sure himself whether the scorn in his voice was real or not.

Yassen wondered why he was even trying; Martin was probably some sort of patriot – believing in justice, serving his country and all that – he had 'right and wrong', 'black and white', 'good and evil' drilled into his bones. Yassen assumed that he was either a marine, 'just' in the army or – the most likely, considering the codename – SAS. Though the assassin doubted that Martin would go telling his generals about this – or tell anyone at all.

But he still couldn't help but feel slightly sad that Martin was a 'military man'... not only had he been good company – something which Yassen lacked and missed – but also seemed reliable. More or less.

The assassin actually, for a short, short moment, thought about just 'getting rid' of Martin; they _were_ enemies, after all. And it would be _so_ much easier... but he shrugged it off. He didn't want to have to kill the other man. It could be plan B...-- no. No, Yassen truly didn't want to kill Martin – and that was that. He would probably have to pay for this mistake later on, but he could deal with that when the time came.

So Yassen rose to his feet and walked to the hall; nothing he said could change anything. Plus, he didn't really think that the other man was up to treating him breakfast any longer.

He put his shoes and jacket on, and was just about to leave the apartment when he heard uncertain steps coming his way. The Russian man turned around, watching Martin carefully; the taller man looked uncomfortable and still angry. He shifted, deliberating whether or not he should say something.

"I'm SAS, you know." now that wasn't what Eagle had been planning to say, but it would have to suffice.

"I know." Yassen nodded.

"And you're still not going to – to kill me? We're technically enemies." the taller man pointed out, watching the assassin warily.

"I don't kill unless necessary." Yassen repeated. Eagle, a little surprised, nodded. He stared at the floor, wondering what he was supposed to say now. Yassen _did_ seem pretty civil now, didn't he? Hm.

Martin needn't worry, though; he couldn'treally say _anything_ when he was pushed up against the wall with a pair of lips roving his own. All thoughts disappeared, leaving his mind strangely blank. Again.

He barely noticed his neck being bent in an awkward way so that Yassen reached and could dominate at the same time, but he did feel the somewhat triumphant smirk against his lips and the hands – lethal weapons, really; how many had died under those hands? – the hands roaming his body...

But before Martin could react properly or get into the kiss (answer it and not just stand there like some sort of lovestruck woman), the lips were gone.

Eagle opened his eyes (he had no idea when he had closed them) and just got to see the door being thrown shut.

He couldn't help but grin; okay, so maybe he _would_ be able to accept Yassen anyway. If they saw each other again, that is... but then again, the assassin _did_ wear Martin's shirt. And he would have to return it, wouldn't he?

With that in mind, Eagle returned to the kitchen, only now realizing that he had a breakfast for two, a whole lot of dishes to do and sheets to clean. But he couldn't really bring himself to be annoyed about that – he was still in an ecstatic state after that kiss. Yassen damn well knew what he was doing.


End file.
